Way Back Home

Hip Hop Lover

I'll be down for your rap.
I'll be down for your rhythm.
It still makes my heart pound.
It makes me be the real me

They sat silently. Chaerin's arms still securely wrapped around Yoongi's shoulders. He'd stopped crying a while ago. But neither of them moved. They didn't want to.

Reluctantly, Yoongi lifted his tear streaked face from his arms and turned to his friend. Chaerin watched him with apathetic eyes, which struggled to hold her own tears back. It hurt her to see her friend in pain. She carefully unwrapped one arm from around Yoongi. Her warm fingertips gently wiped the stray tears from his face.

Chaerin struggled to find some way to reassure him that even though things were bad, she wouldn't leave him to deal with it alone. But her young mind couldn't come up with anything that seemed good enough. It wouldn't be right to smile right now. And she couldn't tell him that everything would be alright because she didn't know that it would be. So all she could do for her friend right now was to just sit with him.

And that's what she did.

They sat a while longer, their backs against the headboard, their shoulders pressed together as they leaned on one another. Finally, when the silence grew too loud for him, Yoongi turned to Chaerin.

He stared at her for a moment, just observing her small, round face, her large animae eyes, and the way she looked back at him. Her face showed no pity. She didn't look down on him for crying in front of her or sharing what he'd been through. But she wasn't indifferent either. Yoongi couldn't tell what she was thinking. But it looked as if she understood his situation, or at the very least empathized with it. And for the first time in a year, Yoongi didn't question why she was here, because he was thankful that she was.

"Come on," he grabbed her hand in his and pulled them both off the bed, "Let's go downstairs."

Chaerin followed him willingly. She was curious as to what they were going to do, and frankly she liked this 'new' Yoongi—the one that talked to her—so she let him tug her along until they came to a stop in his grandmother's sitting room.

She hadn't been in this room very much. Whenever she came to Grandma Min's house her time was mostly spent in Yoongi's room, or the kitchen when Grandma Min made them lunch. The sitting room was nice. It had cream colored couches and blood red chairs. There were paintings on the walls, books on shelves, and little trinkets on every flat surface.

While Chaerin was busy admiring the cozy room, Yoongi didn't bother looking around. He walked straight towards the brown piano that sat calmly against one wall and pulled back the lid. Yoongi ran his cold fingertips over the black and white keys. They felt so familiar to him.

"Chae," he called her name, making Chaerin's head snap away from admiring a painting and towards him where he stood by the piano. He beckoned her forward.

Chaerin watched as Yoongi kicked out his foot and used it to pull out the small bench that hid beneath the piano in one swift motion. He sat on the left of the bench and patted the space next to him. Hesitantly, Chaerin sunk down on the bench beside him. She wanted to ask why they were sitting at the piano but she didn't want to break the comfortable silence that they were in.

As his friend watched, Yoongi pressed his unsure fingertips down on the keys. Like a wail, a single piercing note rang through the house. He pressed more keys. His movements were slow, like he was scared of the sounds the instrument would create, but he continued. The notes rose and fell and wobbled beneath his young hands. Some of them screeched like nails on chalkboard, others sang like wind blowing through cotton candy clouds. But either way, the music he created told a story, and Chaerin listened carefully to every ringing note.

Much too soon, the unorganized symphony of notes came to end. The last low note still hovered in the air, as it faded into silence, Chaerin found her voice again.

"I didn't know you played piano," she whispered.

"I don't—not really." He was slow to answer. "But I want to," he admitted.

It was an idea—or more of a feeling—he's been grappling with for the past few months. He didn't know any notes or how they were played, but he liked how he felt when they echoed through the house in their disheveled orchestra. When he played he felt free. He wasn't hollow.

There was no need to explain to a piano what he was thinking; he didn't have to think at all. He just hit the notes that drowned out his raging storm of thoughts.

"I think you should," Chaerin quietly encouraged him. "If you want to."

Yoongi turned to look at her. Dry tears stained his face. Chaerin glanced up. Coffee brown met earthy brown as their eyes locked.

"I do. I think—" he sucked in a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowed, "I think I want to be a musician. Is that stupid?" He spoke softly, fearing her answer.

Of course it was stupid. Why would he want to be a musician? He would never get anywhere with it. She probably thought it was the worst idea ever.

But Chaerin never failed to surprise him.

She smiled. It was nothing more than a gentle upturn at the corners of her mouth, but it made the weight lift from his shoulders.

"It's not stupid," she looked straight into his eyes and spoke the truth. "Not if you really want it." Her smiled widened just a little, "And I'll support you no matter what," she bumped his shoulder with hers. "That's what friends do."

Yoongi stared at her. This girl was the oddest person he had ever met. He yelled, she smiled. He cried, she held strong. He doubted, she reassured. But no matter how many times she took him by surprise or did something he wasn't expecting, he was glad. Yoongi was glad to have a friend like Chaerin. She was odd, but he had never known anyone better.

"Thank you, Chae."